


Shake Don't Shatter

by farseersfool



Series: Shake Don't Shatter [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AU where basically everything is the same but they meet in college instead of high school, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background IwaOi - Freeform, Background Kuroken - Freeform, Cameos by Aone Kenma and Daisuga, Intimacy but no sex, M/M, Manic Depressive Disorder, Trans Male Character, it's a romcom i swear, mentions of transphobia, number one bokuaka shipper kuroo tetsurou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:18:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseersfool/pseuds/farseersfool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started when Akaashi walked into the gym for university volleyball club practice. No, it started when Bokuto decided that he <i>had</i> to ask him out. No, no, it started with Akaashi turned Bokuto down.</p><p>Really, all of that is just the beginning. It ends with something much, much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shake Don't Shatter

**Author's Note:**

> I 100% blame this fic on my good friend [Cloudy.](http://cloudmonstachopper.tumblr.com/) If it weren't for them, I'd have never caught up with the manga. I'd have never fallen into Bokuaka hell. I'd have never gotten all these _feelings_
> 
> Cloudy is also my beta, so let's just say that there's absolutely no way this fic would exist without them. A+ job Cloudy, you're the best.
> 
> Title is a line from [Bright Matter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1xd_QjNCqs) by Quiet Hounds

**14 Years Ago, Late June**

Keiji had been the easy child of the Akaashi family, rarely crying, always quiet, tending to prefer simple toys and games to running around and causing a ruckus, the way his older brothers had. As such, he had become the darling of his grandparents, and so his mother had—with some reluctance—given him over to them for a two week period while she went on vacation with her sister when he was five years old.

Despite how young he had been at the time, Keiji remembered that vacation remarkably well. The old house, with its low ceilings and strange smell—not bad, but different from home. He remembered the coloring books his grandfather had taken him to the store to pick out—he had gotten one with zoo animals. He remembered the stray cat that came by their yard, but never quite close enough for him to stroke.

But the memory that stood out the most was a gentle, otherwise unremarkable summer afternoon. Grandma and Grandpa had a nice, professional photo of each of his older brothers, but not one of him. Keiji didn't like getting dressed up, so getting him to the portrait studio had been put off, and put off, and put off, but today, Grandma had _insisted_ that they were going to get that nice photo.

He remembered looking at the bed, where the lovely handmade dress was laid out, a dark green color to match his eyes. There were snow white stockings and shiny slippers to go with it. He looked at the clothes in puzzlement.

“Don't wanna wear that,” he remembered saying to his grandfather. It was the first time he'd been difficult during his entire stay.

“Your grandmother made that dress just for you. Why don't you want to wear it for your pictures?”

“That's a girl's dress,” he'd said, still looking at the dress with a serious, perplexed expression. His grandmother and grandfather had both laughed.

“Well, Kimiko-chan,” his grandmother said, “You _are_ a little girl. Let me help you with the ribbons. Oh, you'll look so pretty.”

Her words didn't sit quite right with him then, though it would be a few years before he would realize exactly why.

**Late August**

 

It was the first official meeting of the university volleyball club, three weeks into the fall term, and Koutarou was just about vibrating with excitement, watching the door to the gym.

“You that excited to be a senpai again?” a lazy drawl sounded from behind him as Kuroo sidled up to him.

“Yes?” He answered, shamelessly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. What was better than getting to show some new kid the ropes, have them pretty much worship the ground he walked on? Well—he hadn't felt like that about the older members of the volleyball club last year, but _surely_ it would be like that for him.

“You planning to adopt one?” Kuroo further inquired, referring to the club's informal tradition of pairing up new students with older ones in a quasi-mentor relationship.

“You bet I am!” Koutarou exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the thought. “In fact, dibs on the first guy that walks in the door.”

Kuroo snickered. “You sure you don't wanna see the kid first? What if he's terrible?”

Koutarou struck a pose and pointed at his chest. “That doesn't matter. I'll lift him up with how _awesome_ of a senpai I am.”

“You're definitely _something_ ,” Kuroo replied.

“What about you? You gonna stake out a new kid?” Koutarou asked.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I've got my hands full with Kenma.”

“He's not even in the club!”

“Not for lack of trying!” Kuroo said defensively. “He said something about having 'done his time.' I respect that it's his choice and all, but it kind of sucks. He was a good player.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou agreed, and was about to say something supportive and uplifting, but then _all the words ever_ died in his throat when the most beautiful man in the world took a few steps into the gym, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

He took a look around, glancing between the nets and club members casually warming up around the room. His dark eyes settled on Koutarou, who was standing closer to the door than anyone else.

“Men's volleyball club?” He asked, and _wow,_ his voice was soft and cool and perfect and Koutarou was falling and he wasn't sure if he wanted to get up.

It took Kuroo nudging him with his shoulder to break the spell.

“You called dibs,” he reminded him, punctuating it with a smirk.

“Yeah….Yeah! You're in the right place!” Koutarou said in what he desperately hoped was a normal and not-at-all lovestruck voice.

Most Beautiful Man In The World nodded, and took another couple of steps.

Koutarou, meanwhile, took a split second to give himself a mental pep-talk. He was going to be the best senpai _ever._ So what if his kouhai was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. That didn't mean he had any excuse to gape like a toad presented with a particularly juicy fly.

“Let me show you to the locker room,” he said brightly, sure that it was his normal voice this time, “You can change into your gym clothes and leave your bag there. You can have a locker too if you want, but we're the only ones that use this gym right now, so most of us just leave our bags on the benches.”

He went over a few other details as they walked, the beautiful boy nodding silently at him as he spoke to show he understood. Was he always this quiet? Did he just need a while to warm up to new people? As the best senpai _ever,_ Koutarou was sure he'd find out.

It took him a minute or two before Koutarou realized he was talking at the new club member in the middle of the otherwise-empty locker room, and the beautiful man hadn't made a move to start changing.

“...So, yeah, since this university isn't big on sports this club is pretty casual, though we do play some friendly games against other nearby schools, and you're waiting for me to leave so you can change, aren't you?”

“I...prefer privacy,” he said by way of answer.

“No problem with that!” Koutarou said brightly, and turned to head back to the gym. He'd had the modesty beaten out of him after a few weeks of team sports, but not this guy. That was cool with him.

After a minute or two, he emerged from the locker room in gym clothes and, seeing Koutarou waiting for him, nodded slightly.

“Alright, Alright! Let's go introduce you to the other guys and warm up. What position do you play?”

“Setter,” he replied, and Koutarou _actually_ bounced in excitement at the news.

“No way! That's great! We've only got one setter right now! Other than you, that is. Will you toss for me later?”

His new kouhai blinked a few times at the string of enthusiastic words, but nodded. Koutarou _beamed_ before turning to wave, getting the attention of the other members.

“Hey, hey, hey, we got a new member!” He announced. “This is...” And he froze, immediately realizing his mistake.

There were several chuckles, and one of the older students, Oikawa, mock-chidingly said, “You forgot to ask his name, didn't you, Bokuto-chan?”

“Akaashi Keiji,” the new player announced, and fuck Koutarou if that name wasn't as beautiful as the rest of him. Even if he _was_ a little too mortified at present to focus on that.

“What was that about you being the best senpai ever?” Kuroo asked with a snicker. “You didn't even ask for Akaashi-kun's name.”

“I am the worst senpai ever,” Koutarou agreed, wilting.

“It's okay, Bokuto-san,” came the soft, beautiful voice of Akaashi Keiji. He'd said his name (fuck, Koutarou was so gay). This must be his redemption, surely, he would say everything was fine. “I wouldn't go so far as _worst._ ”

There was a split second of silence before several of the other members began laughing uproariously. Koutarou risked a glance at Akaashi's face, and the small sardonic grin there confirmed that it _had,_ in fact,been a joke.

Kuroo slung an arm over Akaashi's shoulder (at which he didn't look entirely comfortable) a wide grin on Kuroo's face.

“You. I like you. Anyone who gives Koutarou shit within ten minutes of meeting him is alright in my book. Trust me, he has it coming.”

“Hey--” Koutarou began to defend himself because, _excuse him_ but he wasn't _that bad_. However, Akaashi's voice cut him off.

“He actually has been very helpful so far, though,” he said, pulling out from under Kuroo's arm and _yep,_ Koutarou was done for if even that minor bit of validation could get his heart racing like this.

“'So far' being key. Give him an hour or two,” Kuroo replied flippantly, giving Akaashi a lastpat on the back. “Anyway, let's play!”

**The Same Night, Later**

The first practice of the term had been a disorganized, casual thing, with new members wandering in throughout—having been lost, coming from evening classes, or just running late. But Keiji was happy enough with that—he had a tough major, and he didn't think he'd have had time for the sort of competitive atmosphere and strict training regimens he'd had back in high school.

Just playing for fun was more than enough for him, at this point in his life, he thought as he toed off his shoes and turned the lights to his dorm room on.

Plus, it would help him satisfy his mom's demands. He took a look at his phone, and sure enough there was a new text from her.

From: mom

Time: 20:02

Message: DID U MAKE ANY FRIENDS TODAY KEIJI

He sighed, and put the device back in his pocket; he would reply to her later. His mother was overly concerned about the quiet, solitary nature of her youngest son.

Still, the message did make him think back to the practice, and how tight-knit the group had seemed. He couldn't help but hope that he might be assimilated into that, despite worrying about how they'd react when they inevitably found out. Solitary nature or no, the feeling of camaraderie that team sports lent a group was something he had missed since graduation.

Even if the group in question was...energetic. He half-grinned thinking of Bokuto Koutarou and his absurd hair, and how he seemed to experience life with just a little more intensity than Keiji did.

The tradition of having an older student 'adopt' a new member had been explained to him during practice, and while Keiji thought it was a little unnecessary—they were all (legally, at least) adults now, not young teenagers—he figured it probably helped with the 'team bonding' thing. And Bokuto _had_ been terribly excited about it.

“You're stuck with me now,” Bokuto had said to Keiji shortly before they had left the gym, and he exhaled a small snort of laughter at the memory.

He probably could have done worse.

Keiji woke up his phone and composed a reply to his mom.

To: mom

Time: 21:12

Message: maybe. The guys from the volleyball club seem pretty friendly.

She replied with several separate messages full of excited emojis, and Keiji rolled his eyes affectionately and went to his laptop to do a bit of studying before bed.

**Mid September**

Koutarou fell into step with Kuroo after practice, the night air cooling his sweat-dampened body.

“Got something on your mind, owl boy?” Kuroo asked.

Koutarou hummed a few notes before answering, working up to what he was about to say. It had been a few weeks since regular club meetings had started up, and in that time, he'd only grown to like Akaashi more and more. His grace, his form, his rare smiles. Even his dry wit was charming when it wasn't aimed at Koutarou—though it often was.

“I think I'm gonna make my move on Saturday when we all go out to the pub,” he announced confidently.

“Oh yeah?” Kuroo said teasingly, “I thought you were in full senpai mode.”

Koutarou shrugged. “Are they mutually exclusive? I can be his senpai _and_ his boyfriend. Senpoyfriend. Boyfrenpai. Whatever.”

Kuroo snorted out a half-laugh. “You think he'll go for it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“You got guts, bro.”

“Yeah, well. If I need ice cream and comfort movies you'll be the first to know,” Koutarou said airily. Usually it would be a joke; he tended to take rejection in stride—at least, if he wasn't particularly invested in the guy he was talking to. A cutie at a bar was one thing, but...Akaashi might be different, though. Kuroo didn't throw a cheap shot back, so he figured that he knew that, too.

They walked together a while longer until the turn Koutarou needed to take to get to his dorm came up.

“See ya, friendo. Say hi to Kenma for me.”

“Will do; see you on Saturday.” Kuroo gave him a mock salute. “And good luck.”

**A Few Days Later**

Keiji rubbed his arm and frowned, squinting into the late afternoon sunlight flooding the crowded street. He wasn't much for going out on weekends, for parties, or for bars, but the volleyball club (mostly Bokuto, with a little help from Kuroo) had badgered him into agreeing that he would show up this evening.

Besides, the pub they were meeting at was only a few blocks from the clinic where he'd just had his endocrinologist's appointment, so it wasn't _exactly_ out of his way. He looked around and found the establishment in question—and of course, he was the first one there.

Keiji sat down at one of the wrought iron tables in front of the American-style pub's doors and waited, watching a few overweight pigeons fighting over a discarded french fry.

He wasn't sure how long it had been—those pigeons were _really_ going at it and he'd gotten very absorbed—when he heard the unmistakable voice of the volleyball club's other setter, and the birds spooked.

“Here we are Iwa-chan!”

“Disgustingly early, as usual.”

“Earliness is next to godliness, or so goes the saying. Besides, we're not the _first_ ones here!”

“That's not how that saying goes at all, Trashykawa!”

Keiji looked up at the pair approaching him, Oikawa smiling broadly and waving with languid grace, Iwaizumi following a few steps behind, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Oikawa-san, Iwaizumi-san.” Keiji greeted each of them with a nod.

“What _are_ you doing here so early, Aka-chan?” Oikawa asked, boldly taking one of the other chairs at the table and leaning back in it. He tried not to flinch at the nickname.

“I was already in the area on an errand,” he said simply. Oikawa hummed an acknowledgment of his words and closed his eyes, the crepuscular light tinting his skin and hair golden. Keiji's hands twitched for his camera—back in his dorm room—the moment was perfect. Oikawa was a good looking guy,and the photographer in Keiji appreciated that.

Iwaizumi killed the scene by smacking Oikawa across the shoulders, knocking him off balance so his chair loudly clattered back onto all four feet.

“Don't lean back in your chair like that, idiot. You're going to fall and hurt yourself,” he grumbled before pulling out the remaining chair at the table. Keiji grinned slightly at their interaction, Oikawa pouting as he recovered from the shock. Bokuto had filled him in, letting him know that they had known each other their whole lives and were dating, but it had taken him most of a year to figure that out, because of the way they acted.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whined, “Even when you care you're mean.”

Iwaizumi huffed and rolled his eyes in response, turning to focus on Keiji.

“Don't let this asshole fool you into thinking he's cool. Last night he stayed up past midnight finishing a sci-fi novel. He _cried._ ”

“She was the loneliest spaceship!” Oikawa said loudly enough to turn the heads of people walking by, and gesturing dramatically to emphasize his point.

Iwaizumi just gave Keiji a look as if to say 'I told you so,' and didn't reply to Oikawa at all, which upset him to the point of _whining._ Iwaizumi simply responded with increasingly surly grunts.

It was fairly obvious to Keiji that they were crazy for one another; he wasn't sure why it had taken Bokuto so long to figure it out.

It only took a few minutes of that before most of the remaining club members showed up all at once; Keiji looked up when he heard a few greetings called out.

He stood up from his spot at the table at the group drew near, Bokuto and his ridiculous hair pushing through the group to get to him.

“Akaashi!” He exclaimed. “We match!”

Keiji tilted his head and looked at the other's shirt; it was a slim-fitting white tee shirt with a black graphic print of an owl in flight covering the entire front. He took a glance at his own shirt to remember which one he had decided to wear that morning—oh yeah, the dark red one with the small pattern of owls all over it.

“I guess we kind of do,” he agreed, the both of them joining the crowd that was now entering the pub.

“Do you like owls?” Bokuto asked, all wide-open curiosity like Keiji's answer would absolutely fascinate him. He really wasn't sure where Bokuto found the energy to _care_ about things so much.

“I do,” he answered truthfully. He had, after all, gone to university to study wildlife biology and photography, to become, as his older brother put it, a _hardcore birdwatcher._ “All birds, but owls are my favorites.”

“I love owls!” Bokuto said excitedly, and Keiji grinned at his enthusiasm.

The party was squeezed in around a large circular table, where they all fit, but they didn't exactly have a ton of room to move. Keiji ended up sandwiched between Bokuto and an older student named Aone—he figured he was only going to get conversation from his left that evening—Keiji had heard Aone say _maybe_ three sentences in the last few weeks of practices.

Kuroo had said that they liked this pub because it had good food _and_ good drinks, and honestly, Keiji was starving. He felt like his appetite had about quadrupled since he'd started hormone replacement therapy half a year ago. He quickly scanned the dinner menu—mostly “traditional” pub foods, greasy fried things and sandwiches. _Perfect._

“What looks good?” Bokuto asked him, leaning over.

“Everything,” he said honestly.

“Their burgers are really good. Ridiculously huge, though.”

“Sounds ideal,” Keiji replied.

Bokuto laughed sharply, and asked, “Hungry, Akaashi?”

“I missed lunch,” he lied without skipping a beat. Bokuto laughed again in reply, though Keiji thought he saw a flash of worry in that wide-open face of his. He tilted his head, curious, but it was gone. He was probably just overthinking it, anyway. Either way, telling his teammate that he had missed a meal was an easier explanation than the truth.

The waitress came around to the table a moment later, cutting off that train of thought at he finalized the details on his dinner—the bacon BBQ burger, yes he wanted pickles—he wasn't a heathen—and a dark imported beer (Huge Aone nodded approvingly at him upon hearing his order; Keiji felt oddly flattered at that).

Keiji didn't talk much while they waited for their food—Oikawa regaled the table with his glowing review of the recent sci-fi blockbuster, while Iwaizumi disagreed with everything he said, insisting that it was a tropey mess of a film.

Yamamoto, another of the new members, told them about how he had—finally, for the first time time in his life—been asked out by a girl. A cute girl! A cute girl who liked him! And he had been so overwhelmed that he had just squeaked and walked into a door, trying to get away and clear his head. Kuroo had snickered and said something about him “never changing.” Keiji assumed they must have known each other before college.

The club members were giving him increasingly terrible advice (“Bake her a potato and write your number on it!” “Knit her a sweater with your names on it” “Get a tattoo of her face on your _ass_.”) when the food started arriving, and poor Yamamato's plight was forgotten. Keiji silently wished him the best of—goddamn, that _was_ a ridiculously large burger.

His eyes grew as large as the plate that was set in front of him.

“I warned you,” Bokuto said with a grin.

“You did,” Keiji agreed. “I mean, I'm still going to eat it all, but you did warn me.”

Kuroo leaned back in his chair from the other side of Bokuto to look at Keiji.

“If you finish that, I'll buy it for you,” He asserted.

“And if I lose?”

“Shame and humiliation, the worst of punishments. Also you get to buy _my_ dinner. And drinks.”

“You didn't say anything about buying _my_ drinks,” Keiji challenged him, eyes narrowed.

“Better eat up, then,” Kuroo said glibly, a Cheshire cat grin on his face, and let his chair fall forward.

Keiji rolled his eyes, about to set into the glorious slab of meat and bread in front of him, but Bokuto's voice stopped him.

“It's okay, Akaashi. Tetsu never drinks much; Kenma hates when he comes home plastered.”

“You could have a _little_ faith in me, Bokuto-san,” Keiji grumbled with sweet acidity, and the idea struck him. “You know what? When I eat all of this _you_ can buy my drinks.”

“Aw, well, if you wanted me to buy you a drink, all you had to do was ask,” Bokuto said with an odd laugh. Keiji shot him a look—was he blushing? It was hard to tell in the poorly lit pub interior.

Ten minutes later, the burger was gone, along with all of Keiji's fries, and some of Bokuto's.

Aone clapped him on the shoulder and made an announcement in his bass voice: “We are in the presence of a man among men.”

Again, Keiji felt deeply flattered by his acknowledgment.

Bokuto and Kuroo, on the other hand, were less enthused, and more shocked.

“But. How? Where did you put it?” Kuroo exclaimed almost angrily, gesturing to Keiji's lean waist.

“I'm a growing boy,” he answered sarcastically—though it was just about the truth.

Bokuto, on the other hand, seemed to be having a breakdown, muttering to himself that, “no one finishes the burger,” over and over again. Keiji guessed that he had once failed to finish one, and therefore assumed that it was impossible—Bokuto seemed like that type.

Time to snap him out of that, and make him uphold his end of the bet. Keiji picked up his glass and downed the last bit of swallow in it, setting it down directly in front of Bokuto with a clack.

“I'll take you up on that drink now, Bokuto-san,” he informed him gravely.

Bokuto stared at the empty glass for a moment like he wasn't sure where it had come from or what its arcane purpose was.

“There's still room in your stomach for more?” He asked at length. Keiji rolled his eyes again, but not without a hint of a smile. He'd known _in theory_ how impressed a lot of cis guys were by big eaters, but to see it in practice was something else.

“If it's free, there is,” Keiji replied, even though, in truth, he _was_ pretty full. Still, free was free, and victory was victory.

Bokuto smiled that characteristic wide-open smile of his, and Keiji felt his own mouth tug upwards at the corners in response.

“Well, your bet never specified that you got to _pick_ your drinks, tough guy,” he said in a cartoonish tone, like a villain explaining their evil plot to the captive hero. Bokuto flagged down the passing server and ordered two straight whiskeys. Keiji sighed.

“A little early in the evening for liquor, isn't it?” Oikawa chided him after the waitress swished away to get the drinks.

“I'm just getting the party started!” Bokuto defended himself.

At the same time, Keiji deadpanned, “His fragile masculinity is at stake.”

The table burst into laughter at Keiji's comment as Bokuto exclaimed, “Akaashi, why?” In reply, Keiji just gave him a look that said _'you know why.'_

The conversations resumed as everyone finished up their food, Bokuto's discussion with Kuroo and Yamamoto so animated that he didn't even notice when the server set down the two glasses of amber liquor in front of him—Keiji had to save one of them from being knocked over by a flying elbow.

Nevertheless, despite the teasing, and his initial reluctance to join the club on this outing, Keiji had to admit that he _was_ enjoying himself. The people here were all mostly several energy levels above him, and he didn't really _know_ any of them very well yet, but there wasn't anyone at the table he could say he disliked.

What he _could_ say he disliked, though, was straight liquor. He took a sip, made enough of a show of disgust to restore Bokuto's damaged pride, and passed the otherwise-untouched glass over to him to finish.

The night went on, and more drinks were ordered. The conversations got louder and sillier, and Keiji was still more content to listen than to speak, nursing his third beer.

He was listening in on Kuroo and Bokuto talking about some drama they had both been watching, when Kuroo trailed off to read something on his phone.

“Sorry to cut this short, boys,” he said, putting his phone away, “But I've got to run.”

“Aww, what for?” Bokuto asked petulantly.

“Gotta run by the store before it closes. Kenma needs a thing.”

Bokuto imitated a whip cracking, and Kuroo rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Whatever. Don't be jealous of my stable monogamous relationship,” Kuroo said and paused. He gave Bokuto a significant look. “Good luck.”

Bokuto just nodded gravely, and Kuroo got up to go pay and leave, waving to the farewells that were tossed his way.

Without his friend around to rile him up, Bokuto seemed happy to drag Keiji into conversation instead.

“But you played in high school, right?” He was asking, “Do you think we ever played each other?”

“Maybe?” Keiji answered, though he doubted it. “I don't remember playing anyone with hair like yours.”

Bokuto laughed, and took another drink. How many was that? Should Keiji tell him to slow down?

“And I don't remember playing against anyone as gorgeous as you, so I guess not.”

Keiji blinked, but Bokuto either didn't realize what he'd said or he just didn't care. He decided to do what most adults did in the face of something disconcerting: ignore it.

“Well, I did look pretty different, then,” he admitted.

“You can't fool these eyes,” Bokuto said, and yeah, he was definitely slurring his words. “I'm like an owl.”

“You can turn your head all the way around, you swallow your prey whole, and you have uneven ears?” Keiji deadpanned.

“Okay, yes, but they're only a little bit uneven?” he said defensively, and Keiji couldn't help the breath of laughter that escaped him then. Bokuto smiled wide at that.

“Besides,” he went on, still grinning and—again, it was impossible to tell if he was blushing, “You know what I meant.”

Bokuto rocked back in his chair and was unusually quiet for a long moment, and, yeah, Keiji was _pretty sure_ he was blushing—or he was just flushed from all the drinks he'd had. It was actually probably that one; he should really cut him off.

“You know,” Bokuto began, and Keiji hummed an acknowledgment.

“It's kind of stuffy and hard to hear in here. Do you want to go sit at one of the tables outside?” He went on.

Keiji blinked in confusion, but shrugged and nodded. He started to stand up, and so did Bokuto, hand still wrapped around the half-full glass.

“No,” Keiji said, putting his hand on Bokuto's wrist. Amber eyes cycled through confusion and hurt and back to confusion.

“Leave that. Get a glass of water from the bartender.”

At that, Bokuto grinned. “Alright.” The relief in his voice was evident.

He diligently obeyed Keiji's instructions, and they walked to an empty wrought-iron table outside the pub's door. Well—Keiji walked. Bokuto wobbled. That water was a good call.

The late-summer night air was still warm, but crisp with the promise of oncoming autumn. Keiji closed his eyes for a moment to savor the breeze and relative quiet. When he opened them again, Bokuto was looking at him. He tilted his head to show that he was listening; the other man clearly had something to say, and Keiji was afraid he knew what it was.

“Akaashi, I,” he started, then took a big gulp of his water, spilling some of it down the front of his shirt.

“Didn't happen,” he muttered, wiping at the wet spot with his hand.

“It did, though,” Keiji said, straight-faced.

“You're making it really hard for me to tell you I like you,” Bokuto said, and visibly paled.

 _Am I though?_ Keiji thought. He seemed to have gotten to the point pretty quickly.

Bokuto made a noise something like a bird that had been stepped on, and quickly went on, “I meant—what I mean to say is. Wow. This is not at all how I imagined this going. But I do actually really like you a lot, Akaashi, and it would be really cool if we could go out sometime, maybe?”

Keiji was caught between amusement at how _Bokuto_ this was in its endearing awkwardness, and being taken aback at how _Bokuto_ it was in its alarming frankness.

Turning him down was going to suck. Keiji took a deep breath and braced himself.

“I'm. It's not that I dislike you, Bokuto-san. It's just that I feel like we barely know each other,” he said, managing not to stammer. He felt like it wasn't a very good excuse—dating was something people did _to_ get to know one another.

And maybe that would be the case, with any other two guys, but Keiji was trans, and he was always a little (a lot) afraid of how potential partners would react when they found out.

But Bokuto was nodding, looking into his water cup intently.

“You're right—yeah,” he said, an unaccustomed softness in his voice. He looked up, then, making eye contact, and Keiji found himself thinking of the wide, focused stares of birds of prey—though he'd never seen a raptor with eyes glassy from drinking too much.

“But I still like you. I mean. _You._ As a person. You're, like, _really_ good-looking, Akaashi, but that's not why I asked you out.”

“Um,” Keiji started to interject, a little uncomfortable at where he thought this might be going, but Bokuto held up a finger, clearly on a roll.

“Would you...friends? Yes? Want to be? No ulterior motives, promise.”

Keiji sighed. Nope, not on a roll, just drunk. But damn it, he liked Bokuto too, his absurdist humor and energetic...everything.

“Yes, Bokuto-san. I accept your formal friendship proposal.”

“Hot dog,” Bokuto replied, and promptly leaned over to vomit into the nearby potted plant.

**The Next Day**

Koutarou showed up at Kuroo's apartment in the early afternoon, after he'd had time to take some painkillers and go back to bed to sleep off his (surprisingly mild) hangover.

His friend answered the door almost as soon as he finished knocking, to which Koutarou raised an eyebrow. Kuroo shrugged in reply, and motioned him to come inside.

Koutarou pulled off his shoes and called a greeting to Kenma, who was so deeply engrossed in the game that was playing on the small TV screen that he only nodded in response.

“So,” Kuroo said, offering Koutarou a seat at the small table in the kitchen, “How did it go?” He took the seat opposite and waited expectantly.

“Honestly? Amazingly well,” Koutarou said, unable to keep the smile from crawling over his face.

“So he said yes?”

“What? Oh, no, I got rejected,” he announced.

“I've never seen anyone so happy about being rejected before,” Kuroo said, brow furrowed in confusion.

Koutarou rocked his head from side to side, considering how best to phrase it.

“It wasn't really a 'gross, never' rejection? It seemed more of a 'not now' rejection. Besides we're totes besties now and we're going to go to a cafe on Wednesday after his last class.”

The confusion on Kuroo's face only deepened. “You got rejected, but you're going on a date?”

“Not a date,” Koutarou said with a bit of a pout. “We're _hanging out_ as _friends_.”

“Exactly,” Kuroo began, steepling his fingers in front of his face, “What happened after I left?”

Koutarou took a deep breath, still grinning. Honestly, quite a lot of the night before was a little hazy, but he remembered the parts that were relevant with startling clarity. And Akaashi! True, he hadn't wanted to go out with him, and maybe that stung a little, but being friends was great, too.

“Well, I was nervous, so I drank more than I probably should have,” Koutarou began.

“Always an auspicious start,” Kuroo interjected sarcastically.

“You know...” Koutarou replied, giving him a fondly exasperated look, and continuing, “And I finally got the nerve to talk to him alone and ask him out.”

“And he turned you down.”

“Not helping, Tetsu. But yes, he turned me down. But, you know, I _really like_ Akaashi, so—“

“I am _incredibly_ aware of how much you like Akaashi.”

“If you interrupt my story one more time I swear to god you will _never_ hear the rest of it,” Koutarou admonished his friend.

“I'll be good, I promise,” Kuroo said in a conciliatory tone, belied by his cheeky grin.

“As I was saying,” he said deliberately, eyeing Kuroo, who held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, “Ahem. As I was saying. Honestly, I really do like Akaashi, so if he doesn't want to go out with me, that's fine. I'm not going to be a dick about it, you know? But I do want to at least be his friend, and not have it be awkward. I...don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm sure it was really smooth and cool, and he said that being friends would be good. Then I threw up in a plant.”

Koutarou paused, but Kuroo was keeping his word not to interrupt, though he looked caught between dismay and choking down a laugh.

“And after that, Akaashi forced about three liters of water down my throat and walked me back to my dorm to make sure I wouldn't pass out in the street. _And_ he gave me his number.”

Kuroo was silent. Waiting.

“The end,” Koutarou concluded.

“You are a trainwreck of a human being, but somehow it always works out for you,” Kuroo remarked without a second's hesitation.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” Koutarou's tone was solemn, but he couldn't keep his face straight for more than a few seconds. He was _happy_.

**The Same Day**

Keiji, who was _not_ hungover, since he had _not_ drunk to excess, had decided to use the same splendid Sunday afternoon to indulge in his non-volleyball hobby.

He had packed his small field guide into his pocket, strung his binoculars and camera around his neck, and taken the train to a small, wild park not far outside the city.

Today was the day, he was sure. He would see the black-naped oriole today. The sneaky little bird had eluded him thus far, but Keiji had a good feeling about today.

He followed one of the well-maintained paths through the park, keeping an eye on the birds flitting through the branches above; common starlings, warblers, sparrows, a hawk high overhead. At a likely-looking spot, based on the oriole's foraging habits, he went a few meters off the trail and found a comfortable looking rock sheltered by bushes, where he settled in to wait, and watch.

If Keiji had anything to spare, it was patience, and it served him well. He wasn't sure how long he sat perched on the rock, watching small passerines flit through branches through the lenses of his binoculars in the trees around him when a small noise alerted him to a nearby presence.

Slowly, hardly daring to move or breathe, he turned his head to look. There, just over a meter away, the bright yellow bird he'd been looking for was perched on a shrub, looking this way and that.

“Black-naped oriole,” he mouthed silently, and very slowly, very steadily, exchanged his binoculars for his camera in his hands. He focused in on the bird, and snapped a picture. A glance at the display showed that it had moved, blurring the shot just slightly, and he frowned.

It hadn't flown away, though, so he focused in to try again, finger on the button to take the photo.

And at that moment, his phone vibrated violently in his pocket, startling him so badly that his whole body jerked in fright. The motion scared the bird, too, sending it fluttering in a bright yellow blur of feathers, into the trees and out of sight.

Keiji scowled, and turned his camera off with one hand, digging in his pocket with the other to see what was _so important_.

From: bokuto

Time: 14:15

Message: hope your day is going well! (°//v//°)

He sighed, and his irritation melted away, a bit. Bokuto was...hard to be mad at. Besides, the first picture hadn't been _too_ bad. He could probably fix it in Photoshop.

Mission for the day more-or-less accomplished, Keiji stood up from his rock, brushed himself off, and started walking back to the park entrance, and the station. He'd think of something to say back to Bokuto on the ride home.

**That Wednesday**

He was literally bouncing in excitement, up and down on the balls of his feet, standing on the pavement outside the cafe where Akaashi would meet him in a few minutes. He was prepared to be the _best_ friend ever. So _maybe_ Akaashi didn't really need a senpai and the dating thing hadn't worked out, but everyone needed friends, and _that_ he could do. Bokuto Koutarou: 10/10, would friend again. Sure, he still got a flutter in his stomach when he thought of Akaashi, and he didn't think it was going to go away anytime soon, but that was fine.

His phone chirped at him, and he quickly unlocked it, hoping it was a text from Akaashi—it wasn't; it was yet another cat meme from Kuroo. However, while he was looking at the image, the phone chimed again, and this time it _was_ from Akaashi.

From: akaashi

Time: 17:03

Message: class just let out. I'm on my way

Koutarou grinned widely and replied with the appropriate emojis to express his excitement. Akaashi didn't reply—it seemed like he didn't much care for texting unless he had something to say.

The cafe was only a block from campus, so it didn't take Akaashi long to get there, and when Koutarou spotted his wavy hair among the other people walking down the sidewalk his heart lurched in his chest. Yeah, he wasn't going to get over this crush anytime soon. But that didn't mean he was going to be weird about it.

He raised his hand over his head and waved toward Akaashi, who looked up at the movement, nodded, and...was that a grin? He was still too far away to tell.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi greeted him when he was only a few steps away, “You didn't have to wait for me.”

Koutarou shrugged, and replied, “The weather's nice.”

This was a consummate lie. It was an unusually hot early fall day, and humid from rain the night before. The look that Akaashi gave him let Koutarou know that he knew it. He didn't press the issue, however, and they both went into the (blessedly cool) coffee shop.

There was no one in line at the counter, so Akaashi led him straight there, ordering a medium iced coffee, black. Koutarou thought that maybe he should offer to pay—but this wasn't a date. They were just two dudes, hanging out.

He ordered his own drink—large white chocolate caramel frappe, thank you—and joined Akaashi at the little table in the corner where he'd gone to sit.

“How was class?” Koutarou asked.

“Economics,” was Akaashi's answer, and Koutarou winced sympathetically. That had...not been his favorite subject.

“What was it you said you were studying?” He asked, prompted by the last question.

“I don't think I said. It's wildlife biology, and a minor in photography.”

Koutarou grinned in delight, exclaiming, “That's so cool! So you're going to be, like, one of those _National Geographic_ photographers?”

Akaashi breathed out the ghost of a laugh, and replied, “That is. Actually exactly what I'm hoping for.”

Koutarou's grin widened, as he said, “Nailed it.”

The barista deposited their drinks on the table and Akaashi took a long draw of his iced coffee. Koutarou was impressed—he didn't even grimace at how bitter it must have been. As for himself, he planned on stirring _more_ sugar into his already syrupy drink.

“What about you?” Akaashi asked, setting his drink down.

“Oh!” Koutarou said. “My degree is in marketing.” He shrugged. It wasn't something he was really passionate about, but after his first year, he'd had to declare a major and it was as good as anything.

“I can see you doing well at that,” Akaashi mused, “You're a people person.” And, okay, maybe that made Koutarou feel a little better.

He made a motion and got up to get a sugar canister for his drink, returning to the table to sweeten it to his tastes, while Akaashi looked on in what might have been horror. Koutarou took a sip through the straw; still sugar crystals to be crunched between his teeth. Perfect.

They talked about simple things; the little tidbits that hadn't come up during volleyball practice. Akaashi had managed to get a single room in his dorm—which he actually looked a little annoyed at (“It's a long story.”) though Koutarou was totally jealous. He had a roommate in his dorm, and the guy was _always there_. Like, always. No clubs, no hobbies. Koutarou hadn't even seen him go to _class._

Akaashi got a text and glanced at it, then mentioned, sardonically, how happy his mom was that he was making friends, and Koutarou laughed, though he was secretly pleased.

Then the conversation turned, as it always did, to volleyball.

“The coach is setting up a game with Tech, on the other side of town; I don't know if you heard,” he told Akaashi, who was taking another sip of his drink.

“Tech?” He asked softly, expression unreadable.

“Yeah!” Koutarou answered with a smile. “They're kind of like us—sports clubs are just for funsies, so it'll just be a friendly game, but it'll be fun to play against another team—and you don't look happy.”

“I always look like this.”

“Akaashi.”

He sighed, and set his drink down, explaining, “A couple of the guys I played with in high school went to Tech. They may be in the club.”

Koutarou's smile fell, concern furrowing his brow. “Did you not get along with them?”

Akaashi's expression was grim. “I didn't _not_ get along with them. It's complicated.”

Koutarou frowned at that—he wanted to know, but if he'd learned anything through his struggles the last couple of years, it was that talking about things _didn't_ always help. And Akaashi _had_ been right the other night—they were just getting to know one another. He wouldn't push.

“Well, you'll have us there as a buffer, you know? The whole club likes you, Akaashi; we'll look out for you if you need it.” He thought he saw a silent flash of relief go over Akaashi's face—at Koutarou's words, or at the lack of having to explain, he wasn't sure, but he was pleased to know he's said _something_ right.

“Thanks,” he said softly, “And it _will_ be fun to play against someone else.”

Koutarou's smile returned, and he saw an answering one ghost across Akaashi's face.

**Early October**

The Saturday afternoon of the game was a pleasant one, summer's heat finally giving way to the crisp breezes and golden sunlight of autumn. Keiji thought that it couldn't have been more at odds with the anxiety he felt in the pit of his belly.

He checked the clock—it was about time he got dressed and made his way to the gym, where the other club would be meeting them. With a sigh, he bookmarked the textbook he'd been pretending to study, closed it, and got up.

He dressed carefully, binder, club shirt, jeans, and a sweater—it was a little too chilly to wear his practice shorts during the walk, even though he preferred to change in his room if he could, so he stowed them in his duffel with his knee pads.

He made the trek to the gym on auto-pilot, occasionally glancing up at the flocks of migratory birds overhead—birdwatching season would be over soon—increasingly worried about the game. Honestly, he had gotten along fairly well with the guys on his team in high school. But they had all _known._ It had been during his first year that his mother had worked with him to make the legal changes for his name and gender on his ID, so he'd only played on the boys team starting at the beginning of his second year.

The fact that he'd been a _damn good_ setter had probably gone a long way toward winning them over, too, even the ones that had had the most trouble using his correct name and pronouns.

But he'd rather just be seen the same way as any other guy in the club; he wasn't comfortable coming out to anyone just yet. And he had a _choice_ this time, something that hadn't been granted to him in high school.

The gym was in view when his phone buzzed with a message.

From: bokuto

Time: 14:35

Message: what kind of bird is this?????

Attachment: IMG_4467

Keiji rolled his eyes, the knot of anxiety untangling just a little bit. Bokuto had been doing this since he'd found out that he was studying wildlife, and into birding. He opened the picture, sighed, and composed his reply.

To: bokuto

Time: 14:36

Message: that is a pigeon

Four out of the last five bird photos had been pigeons. The phone buzzed not even a minute later.

From: bokuto

Time: 14:36

Message: no way!!!! but this one was WHITE!!! I was sure it was a dove!!!

Keiji debated the merits of explaining that not all doves were white, and, really, doves and pigeons were basically the same thing, but his phone buzzed again.

From: bokuto

Time: 14:36

Message: anyway I can see you standing there get in the gym

Keiji grinned slightly and shook his head, pocketing his phone and looking up to see Bokuto standing just inside the gym's doors, face smushed against the glass, waving at him, then frantically pointing toward the ground. He looked toward the spot, and sure enough, there was the white pigeon, pecking idly at some fallen snack.

Keiji shook his head and went to meet Bokuto.

“Akaashi!” He said excitedly, “Hurry up and change so we can warm up. You can toss for me!”

“Alright, alright,” Keiji replied, leading the way out of the lobby and into the gym proper. He cast a quick look around—there were a few people he didn't recognize already there, a slim man with ash hair and a mole, and a taller dark-haired man helping him stretch. No one he recognized, he thought with relief—though they may still be in the guest locker room.

Keiji ducked into the club's locker room, which was fuller than he'd ever seen it. A few of the members, in various states of dress, nodded or waved at him, which he quickly returned before heading to one of the open shower stalls to change into his shorts. No one commented—they were all used to his need for privacy by now.

When he was fully dressed to play, he stowed his duffel under one of the benches and left the locker room to go warm up with Bokuto, who he found animatedly chatting with the two Tech players he'd seen stretching on his way in.

He reminded himself that he didn't know them—that it was fine, and walked up to join the three.

“Bokuto-san?” He interjected, making a motion to indicate that he was ready to warm up now.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto exclaimed. “I was just telling these two about you and how you're a _super great_ setter!”

The ash-haired one smiled, and extended a hand.

“Sugawara Koushi,” he said amiably, “I'm also a setter.”

Keiji took the hand, shaking it firmly, and replied, “Akaashi Keiji, as Bokuto-san probably told you.”

“At length,” said the other one. “Sawamura Daichi.” He nodded to Keiji, which he returned.

“It looks like the others are taking their time in the locker rooms. Want to warm up together?” Sugawara said.

Bokuto, ever the people-person, looked like he was about vibrating with excitement at the prospect, so Akaashi nodded, so the four of them went over some simple tosses, spikes, and receives while the gym filled with players trickling out of the locker rooms.

He had gotten so absorbed in the repetitive motions of receive, toss, repeat, that he hadn't even noticed when someone from Tech walked up behind him.

“Akaashi Keiji?” A familiar voice said, startling him into fumbling the toss, leaving Bokuto to spike empty air.

His insides turned to ice.

“Arakawa-san,” Keiji greeted his old senpai.

Arakawa rubbed the back of his head. “I didn't recognize you until Daichi said your name. You look...different. _Sound_ different, too.” _Like a real boy,_ probably his meaning. His voice had changed dramatically since he'd started testosterone therapy.

“I'm aware,” Keiji replied, desperately hoping that he wouldn't push the issue in front of everyone.

Luck was with him, as someone from across the court called for Arakawa just then, and he simply said, “Okay, well, let's have a good game,” before jogging over.

Keiji let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, shaky.

Bokuto was by his side a second later.

“Hey, do you need me to beat that guy up for you?”

Keiji actually laughed, surprised. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? 'Cause I have a mean right hook.”

“Let's just beat him on the court instead.”

He noticed the concerned looks Sugawara and Sawamura were giving them, but there was no time to explain—the coach was calling them for a pre-game meeting.

* * *

 

It _had_ been fun to play against another team, even in an informal, friendly match like this one, Keiji thought, wiping his sweat-soaked temple on his t-shirt sleeve. Each of them had won a set, and when the third set had passed forty points, they had decided to call it a draw. He had played that third set, though Oikawa had played the first two.

He was about to go back to the locker room to change into his spare clothes and go back to his dorm, but his old team member's voice stopped him again.

“Hey—Akaashi,” Arakawa said, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Good game,” Keiji said, and tried to keep walking, but he was cut off.

“Wait, please.”

Keiji waited, wondering if he was going to regret doing so.

“I've actually been thinking a lot about this, about you, since my little brother—err, sister—came out. Some of the other guys and I—we weren't very cool to you when you joined the team back in high school, and I wanted to apologize for that.”

He blinked. That wasn't what he'd been expecting.

“You don't have to say anything,” Arakawa went on, “I just wanted to let you know. I'm sorry for the way I treated you, then. I'm glad your new team is better than we were.”

Keiji didn't say that they didn't know.

“I—thanks,” he said, simply.

Arakawa grinned awkwardly and nodded a farewell, turning toward the guest locker room.

It was only when Keiji turned to go change his own clothes that he realized that Bokuto had been nearby, within earshot, ready to step in if he thought Keiji had needed it. His stomach sank a little at that.

“Can I ask what that was about?” Bokuto asked, uncharacteristically serious.

Keiji debated for a moment, and decided to just bite the bullet. Bokuto was his _friend,_ and they got along well; surely he wouldn't react badly.

“I'll tell you...but not here; walk with me?” He offered softly, and Bokuto nodded.

**The Next Day**

Koutarou had been up late into the night with his good friend Google, learning everything that he could about what it meant to be transgender, beyond the extremely basic understanding he'd already had—reading blogs and legal sites and everything in between. He wanted to make sure he didn't ask Akaashi anything ignorant or, worse, downright offensive.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but he wanted to sort his thoughts out—and the only way he could do that was by talking to someone else.

Which was how he ended up at Kuroo's apartment on yet another Sunday, knocking on the door to the rhythm of the song stuck in his head.

A few moments later, Kenma opened the door, looking a bit disheveled and disoriented.

“Hey Kenma,” he said, “Did I wake you up?”

“Napping,” Kenma confirmed, and opened the door wider to let him in. “Kuro's in the bedroom working on an essay.”

“Oh—I don't want to bother him,” Koutarou said, thinking he should have _maybe_ let Kuroo know he was coming over.

“Is that Bokuto Koutarou I hear?” came the voice of the man in question, muffled by the closed door.

“He'll welcome the interruption,” Kenma remarked dryly, just as the door burst open and Kuroo came into the main room, still wearing his cat-print flannel pajama pants and sleep shirt, hair worse than usual.

Kenma gave him a look and traded places with him, going into the room and closing the door behind him, presumably to resume his nap.

Kuroo sprawled on the couch and offered Koutarou the well-worn squishy chair that sat at an angle to it with a wave of his hand.

“What's up friendo? You look like you have something on your mind.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“To be honest...yes?”

Koutarou pouted at that, and Kuroo grinned lopsidedly in response.

“But really, what's up. I don't like seeing my bro looking down.”

Koutarou made a noise, and said, “I'm not _down,_ I'm just. Chewing on some stuff and I always think better out loud, yanno?”

Kuroo nodded, and sat up straighter, a _really good friend,_ despite how much shit he gave everyone, which Koutarou appreciated greatly.

“Lay it on me.”

“So I have this _friend_ ,” Koutarou began. “And my friend really likes this guy. The guy is funny and smart and _really_ good looking.”

Kuroo was giving him a look, but Koutarou took a deep breath, and went for it.

“So anyway, the guy tells me— _my friend_ that he's trans. Which is fine! It's cool! But my _friend_ doesn't want to fuck anything up or say or do anything weird because of that, you know?”

Kuroo thought for a moment, and said, “So, Akaashi's trans.”

“What? No! Who said anything about Akaashi?!”

“Dude. It was _really_ obvious.”

Koutarou frowned; it _really_ hadn't been his place to say anything to Kuroo.

He seemed to pick up on that, saying, “Don't worry; I'm not going to say anything. Or be a dick about it. You know me better than that.”

Koutarou nodded; he _did_ know Kuroo better than that.

“So back to my problem...” he said. Kuroo looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I'm not gonna lie, Koutarou, you're probably gonna fuck up and say some stupid shit at one point or another. That's what relationships are like; we both know that.”

That _wasn't_ what Koutarou wanted to hear, but this was why he'd come to talk to his friend, so he grimaced and nodded.

“I mean, when I finally asked Kenma out and he told me he was asexual, I didn't have a clue what that meant. But I listened to him and, well, it all worked out for us, right?”

“Yeah...” Koutarou agreed, nodding. So maybe he wouldn't be _perfect,_ but he could definitely listen to Akaashi, not push, ensure that he wasn't getting him out of his comfort zone.

“So you think you're going to try asking him out again?” Kuroo asked, after a long moment.

Koutarou swallowed. “Maybe, if he seems more likely to go for it. I _really_ like him, Tetsu, and I don't want to fuck it up.”

“I know, Koutarou. And I hope it goes better than with the _last_ guy you dated.”

Koutarou blanched. “He was into some weird things that I _did not_ agree to and I got scared, thank you.”

Kuroo only laughed ruthlessly, and they shifted the topic to less serious things, until Kenma woke up and kicked Koutarou out, since that essay _was_ due the next day.

Still, he was glad he had come over. He felt a little more confident.

**Mid October**

Keiji's phone buzzed, making him lose his place in his economics assignment. No great loss—it was one of the _least_ interesting things he'd ever done. He unlocked the phone and opened the message.

From: bokuto

Time: 19:48

Message: 2 things. 1) mystery bird???? 2) can I come over i'm bored

Attachment: IMG_4479

He opened the attachment and, to his shock and awe, it was not a pigeon this time. As for the second part of the message, his assignment wasn't urgent—and he'd _really_ rather have a distraction.

To: bokuto

Time: 19:49

Message: azure-winged magpie. Good find. And sure, room 324.

The knock on his door came only a few minutes later, much too quickly for Bokuto to have walked from his own dorm. Keiji rolled his eyes fondly; he must have been waiting outside when he texted, counting on his agreeing.

He opened the door, and there was Bokuto, his huge presence making the dorm room seem even smaller and drabber than it already was.

Bokuto made himself at home, sprawling across the bare mattress that would have belonged to Keiji's roommate, had he had one.

“Man, you are so lucky to get a room to yourself.”

“Yeah, well, this was a compromise,” Keiji muttered. University housing _had_ tried to assign him to the girl's dorm, but he had fought that. Getting a single room in the boy's dorm was the best they would do. Really, he just wanted to be treated like everyone else.

“Huh?” Bokuto said, then, “Oh,” picking up on the hint. Keiji fidgeted a little; this was the first time they had hung out, excluding volleyball club, since he'd told him. It wasn't that Bokuto had taken the news badly—if anything, it had gone over really well.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but be wary.

“So how'd you get into the bird thing?” Bokuto asked after a moment of quiet, gesturing at the wall where Keiji had a large art print of an owl framed.

“My aunt has a pet cockatoo. Apparently I've been fascinated with her since before I could walk.” Plus, handling birds and bird-watching were things that required calm and patience, things he had in spades.

“And it all escalated from there?” Bokuto asked, turning onto his side and resting his head on his hand, facing Keiji. He looked young like that and...kind of cute. Keiji blinked the thought away.

“I guess,” Keiji shrugged. “What about you and owls? You seem to be pretty into them.”

Bokuto wiggled with excitement. “Owls are awesome, man! They can fly almost silently and hear really well and do that weird head-turning thing! The big ones even eat deer!”

Keiji grinned at his enthusiasm. To be fair, they were _his_ favorite birds, too. He looked down at his lap for a moment, and when he looked up, Bokuto was sitting up and absently going through the small collection of novels he had brought with him from home.

He watched his friend run his fingers over the well-worn spines and debated asking the question on his mind. Well, they were exchanging plenty of personal information lately anyway. He might as well.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Keiji asked.

“Shoot,” Bokuto answered, looking up from the book collection.

“Do you...dye your hair like that?”

He laughed, a short bark of a sound, then rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

“It's, uh, genetic. My dad and uncles and older brother all started going grey at about fifteen, and it's happening to me, too. It'll probably be completely white by the time I'm twenty-five. Pretty embarrassing, huh?”

Keiji didn't think so. He thought it kind of worked for Bokuto.

“I think it will look dignified,” he said simply.

“ _There's_ a word I don't think anyone's ever used for me, before,” Bokuto said with a laugh, but he looked pleased. He went back to shamelessly examining Keiji's belongings, picking up the framed photo of his family and examining it for a long moment, expression unusually closed. He set the picture down with an almost reverential gentleness, and it made Keiji wonder about Bokuto's family—not something he'd ever spoken about, other than in passing. Not something to ask about tonight, either.

Bokuto was glancing around the mostly-bare room; Keiji didn't have many decorations beyond the owl print, little enough to give away who he was. He had seen Bokuto's room, briefly, when he had had to walk him home, and it was the opposite, walls plastered with posters, knick-knacks lining the available space.

“This room is so empty. What do you even _do_ in here? I mean, besides study.”

“Minimalist aesthetic,” Keiji replied, not exactly the truth, but not entirely a lie. Either way, Bokuto grinned at the response.

“Okay, but really.”

Keiji shrugged. “Read? Watch movies?” He gestured at his laptop.

Bokuto brightened, saying, “I saw this great movie a while back! I mean, it was a kids' movie, but it was still good. There was a really cool bird in it.”

“Bokuto-san, I do like other things besides birds, you know.”

At the way his face fell, Keiji sighed and continued. “But we can watch the bird movie, if you like.”

Bokuto bounced up off the mattress, giving him the title of the movie while he grabbed the spare chair and carried it to the desk beside Keiji's.

Bokuto was a very _active_ movie-watcher, commenting on the characters' actions and dialogue, but Keiji didn't mind. And it _was_ a good movie.

**Late October**

After the first visit, Koutarou found himself hanging out in Akaashi's room more often than not. He'd bring homework, or his laptop to keep himself busy if Akaashi needed to work on something. But it was _nice_ not to be alone. Koutarou didn't _like_ to be alone.

And he _did_ like spending time with Akaashi, and getting to know him better and better. They talked about a lot of things, hobbies, stories from when they were younger. Akaashi showed him the pictures on his camera, interesting architecture, stray animals, and lots and lots of birds. His favorite was a bright, but slightly blurred yellow bird in a shrub. Akaashi seemed amused at that, but wouldn't tell him why.

One evening, he found himself looking at the framed portrait on the dresser again. Akaashi, probably shortly before leaving for college, two much older boys, presumably the occasionally spoken-of brothers, and a woman who could only be their mother. Akaashi looked just like her, though much more serious. In the picture, though, he had a small smile, his brother's arm tight around his shoulders.

“Your family seems nice,” he commented.

Akaashi looked up from whatever he was typing, and nodded.

“They are.”

Koutarou swallowed, and commented on what wasn't present.

“Your dad?”

He saw Akaashi go very still, and quickly added on, “I mean, it's none of my business, sorry.”

“It's okay,” he replied. “He and my mom got divorced when I was...eleven? Twelve? I haven't seen much of him since then. He wasn't comfortable with my being...not the little girl he'd always wanted.”

“But the rest of your family was supportive?” Koutarou asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone that mattered to me.” The look in his eyes, the flatness in his voice told Koutarou that might not be entirely true. Rejection hurt. Rejection based on who he was could only hurt worse.

They were quiet for a long while, but Akaashi didn't turn back to his computer.

“You never talk about your family,” he said, finally, surprising Koutarou. He almost grinned. This was very like Akaashi, not to directly ask, to avoid directly prying, but to very clearly let him know that he was curious.

“Honestly, there's not a lot to tell,” he started, and was leveled by a dark stare from Akaashi.

“Let me finish!” Koutarou exclaimed, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. “I'm the youngest, too, like you, but my siblings and I are a lot closer in age than it looks like you and yours are?” At the nod from Akaashi, he went on. “I was mostly expected to be a smaller version of my oldest sister, who was a model student, and is getting her PhD now. I don't think my parents ever took the time to see me as an individual.”

He paused, the words sounding petty now that he'd said them out loud, but Akaashi looked like he was listening intently, so he continued.

“I started having problems, in middle school. I'd go through periods where I was full of energy—I felt like I was on top of the world, I could do anything. I hardly needed to sleep. But then I'd crash, and I'd have days at a time where I wasn't sick, but I couldn't find the...I don't know... _motivation_ to get out of bed. It was like that for years, up and down.”

He paused to take a breath. “I tried to talk to my parents about it, but they waved it off as 'normal teenage mood swings.'” He did finger quotes around the last bit. “It didn't get any better until I mentioned it to my doctor during a routine checkup, and he said that it was _not_ normal. He gave me some information on manic depressive disorder and a prescription for mood stabilizers and I'm...a lot better off now. Not great, not all the time. But better.” The past half-year or so had been particularly good, actually, though he was always a little wary that it was a fluke.

Akaashi said softly, “But you wish your parents had listened to you when it had started.”

Koutarou nodded. He'd seen to the heart of the problem. Sure, his parents had taken care of him, given him everything he'd needed. But they hadn't _listened_ to him when he'd really needed them to, and he'd suffered for that.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that alone,” Akaashi said, and Koutarou almost felt like crying.

“Thanks, Akaashi.”

**Early November**

Keiji didn't mind that Bokuto had become a more-or-less permanent fixture in his room, showing up most evenings, walking back with him after volleyball practice. Even though he could be...exhausting, his presence wasn't unpleasant.

Autumn deepened, over those next weeks, and the nights grew longer and bitterly cold. And yet, Bokuto continued to wear shorts and t-shirts. He didn't understand. Was this another male ego thing? Over a week ago, Keiji had lent a hoodie of his to Bokuto to ensure he didn't freeze to death walking back to his room in the dark (and he had a feeling he wasn't getting it back, ever. It was too big for him anyway). Even tonight he was ridiculously underdressed, wrapped in Keiji's comforter for warmth on his bed in the poorly-heated dorm room.

Keiji sat on the other end of the bed, reasonably dressed in a fluffy sweater and jeans, only a little chilly, with his laptop balanced across his knees as he tried to focus on an article he was reading for his biology class.

With one hand, he discreetly reached up to adjust his binder through his sweater where it had ridden up, grimacing a bit in discomfort. Binding wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world, and late in the evening as it was, after a full day of it, it was even less so.

He glanced up and caught Bokuto looking, where he had been fidgeting with his math assignment, and let his face go still.

Bokuto swallowed, and gave a few false starts before nervously saying, “If you're comfortable with it...you don't have to wear your binder when it's just us.”

Keiji just blinked in surprise; Bokuto must have done his research.

He went on, “I read it's not very comfortable and it can be dangerous to wear it too long?” All true, but Keiji still frowned slightly. The only people to see him with his chest unbound for the last several _years_ had been his mom and his doctors. Even he tried to avoid seeing his reflection, always jarred by the mental disconnect between what _was_ and what _should be._

Still, Bokuto was hard to be wary of. He was so open in emotions and expressions, hadn't treated him any differently after finding out he was transgender, hadn't asked a single ignorant or overly personal question.

“I'll think about it,” Keiji said, hoping he wasn't blushing.

Bokuto was quiet for a moment, but then he asked, “While we're...on the subject, there is another thing I've kind of been wondering about?”

Keiji looked at him and nodded his assent, while desperately hoping he didn't ruin his good track record.

“Did you pick your name?”

Keiji allowed himself a tiny smile of relief, Bokuto's track record preserved.

“Actually, my mom did, when I was about ten. She was...pretty excited about it, said she hadn't gotten to consult either of my brothers to make sure they would like their names.”

“She did well; it suits you,” Bokuto said, grinning.

When the room was finally empty, late that night, and Keiji crawled into his blankets to sleep, he couldn't help but notice how much they smelled like Bokuto. He burrowed in deeper and sighed, again, finding that he didn't mind.

**Early November**

From: kuroo

Time: 13:24

Message: helloooo???? r u alive???? if u forgot to invite me to ur funeral im gonna be PISSED

Koutarou paused, a bite of his lunch halfway to his mouth, to read the message and start composing his reply.

To: kuroo

Time: 13:25

Message: u saw me at volleyball literally yesterday gosh

He finished the bite and was halfway into another one when his phone chirped with a new message.

From: kuroo

Time: 13:25

Message: OKAY but like. We never hang anymore??? I miss my bro???

Attachment: IMG_8861

The picture was a kitten with a sad expression, and there was a pang of guilt in Koutarou's stomach as he set his spoon down to reply.

To: kuroo

Time: 13:27

Message: I guess I have been spending a lot of time with akaashi lately. Ur still my number one bro, bro

Kuroo's response took a few minutes, so that Koutarou had just about finished his lunch by the time he got it.

From: kuroo

Time: 13:31

Message: I better be! But it's cool. I knew my smol owlet would leave the nest one day.

Almost immediately, another message came.

From: kuroo

Time: 13:31

Message: so r u 2 dating now or…???

While he was somewhat pleased that Kuroo seemed to think it was an inevitability, Koutarou wasn't so sure. He still had trouble reading Akaashi, despite how close they had gotten over the last few months.

To: kuroo

Time: 13:32

Message: nah ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He had gotten up to throw his lunch trash away, snuggled into the hoodie he had 'borrowed' from Akaashi, and start walking to his next class when his phone chirped with a final message.

From: kuroo

Time: 13:35

Message: well. I am still rooting for u. and don't be a stranger.

**Mid-Late November**

Every now and then, Keiji remembered that his friendship with Bokuto had started with his turning him down for a date. He'd never brought it up again—neither of them had—for all that they saw each other almost every day.

On the one hand, Keiji was grateful for that—he'd known some guys who were real jerks after being rejected, and Bokuto was absolutely _not_ one of them. On the other hand, he was beginning to feel like he might have missed an opportunity.

He liked Bokuto, had from the start. If there hadn't been such a need for him to be cautious, he probably would have gone out with him the first time he'd asked. The fact that, objectively speaking, he was a good looking guy, with his expressive face and beefy arms (that occasionally distracted Keiji during practice), didn't hurt.

But now, after these past few months, stories and secrets shared, he could admit, at least to himself, that he _liked_ Bokuto. A lot. But Keiji couldn't be sure if that closeness had had the opposite effect on him. He knew that _he_ had lost interest in people after getting to know them, in the past.

And Keiji was a cautious man, unwilling to leap without thinking, closed off and not good at expressing himself, not like Bokuto was. Despite all that, he couldn't get it out of his head that he should _try,_ that he would regret not doing so.

These thoughts had been running around in his head for at least a week, and he had finally made the decision to say _something_ tonight, making him so nervous that he hadn't been able to focus on the movie he and Bokuto were watching—and it was one he had actually been allowed to pick, a cerebral drama that Bokuto was surprisingly into, mouthing lines of dialogue that he liked back to himself and echoing character expressions.

Of course, Keiji didn't let his nerves show on his face.

What would he even say? He wasn't good with words—neither of them were, though in Bokuto's case, quantity often made up for quality.

Keiji sighed softly to himself, irritated with his own hesitation. They were sitting side-by-side on his bed, both wrapped in the comforter, so close that their legs were pressed together under the laptop. The thought struck him; maybe he wouldn't have to say anything at all.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he tilted his head, rested it on Bokuto's shoulder. Immediately, Bokuto froze, like a songbird in the shadow of a hawk, and the movie was forgotten.

“Akaashi?”

Keiji's only response was to lean more bodily against Bokuto, making himself comfortable for as long as this would last.

He saw Bokuto crane his head, trying to get a good view of his face. Obviously checking to see if his eyes were open.

“I'm awake,” Keiji murmured.

“Oh.” Bokuto was still stiff, but he took a deep, shaky breath and asked, “Does this mean you…? Because I still…”

“Yes,” Keiji replied, though he wasn't _quite_ sure what he'd been trying to say, and Bokuto let the breath out, just as shakily. Carefully, moving like Keiji did when he didn't want to startle a bird he was trying to photograph, he snaked an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, so careful not to touch his chest, unbound for comfort. He relaxed into the embrace with a sigh.

Both their eyes were on the laptop screen with the movie still playing on, but Keiji suspected that Bokuto's focus had been broken as thoroughly as his own had.

After a few moments, he felt the warm softness of lips in his hair, and Bokuto's voice soft, light, but serious.

“I know you don't like to...but we're going to _have_ to talk about this.”

“I know,” Keiji muttered, frowning slightly. He went ahead and closed the video program on his computer, stopping the movie.

“I was watching that!”

“Were you, though?”

“No,” he admitted, “You're much more interesting.”

Keiji felt his cheeks burn that Bokuto could just _say_ something like that, and covered it by going through the motions of turning his computer off and setting it aside.

“So this means what I think it does, right?” Bokuto asked, pulling his arm away from Keiji and leaning away slightly, so that he could look him in the eye. The expression on his face was so tentatively hopeful that Keiji couldn't beat around the bush any longer.

“I like you, Bokuto-san. If you still want to, I'd like to go out.”

“If I still want to?” Bokuto exclaimed incredulously. “Why the hell wouldn't I want to go out with the most amazing, smart, gorgeous guy I've ever met in the history of ever?”

Keiji felt the blush that hadn't entirely faded from his cheeks spread across his entire face—but Bokuto's face was red, too, so he wasn't _too_ embarrassed about it.

“Believe it or not, most people can think of a few reasons,” Keiji said, uncomfortably shifting. He had come to trust Bokuto—but he still _had to make absolutely sure._

“You mean…?” His eyes flicked to Keiji's chest, where even the oversized hoodie didn't completely obscure the shape of his body. “That's stupid. They're stupid.”

Keiji smiled slightly. A perfect, and very, _very_ Bokuto answer.

After a moment he asked, “Have...people been weird about it before?”

Keiji breathed out a laugh, replying, “Believe it or not, Bokuto-san, you are not like most people.” He sobered. “Do you really want to hear about it?”

“If...it won't bother you. It's important to you.”

Keiji nodded, and wavered, unsure of where to begin. At length, he took a breath and launched into his story.

“I've had a couple of gay guys decide—very suddenly—I wasn't their type when they found out I'm trans. And when one of them said he didn't care, I believed him, until he freaked out when he saw me without a shirt on.” He made a face, annoyed at the memory.

“After that I dated a girl. That seemed to be okay, at first, but she kept telling me how it was great that I 'wasn't like other boys' and things like that. I had to break it off with her when it was clear she didn't see me as a real guy.”

Bokuto looked appalled, and, as soon as he seemed sure Keiji was done, blurted, “I would _never_ do anything like that!”

He smiled, tightly, and said, “I know that, now. But...I didn't know that when you asked me out the first time.”

Bokuto stilled, his expression going neutral in thought.

“You're right. I didn't think about it like that. But I'm glad you gave me a chance.”

Keiji didn't know what to say, only leaned in when Bokuto scooted back over to him, warm in his arms and more secure than he'd felt in a long time.

**The Next Practice**

“BRO,” Kuroo yelled, stretching out the word for a good ten seconds as he ran across the gym to the entrance where Koutarou had just walked in with Akaashi, their hands linked.

Kuroo just about tackled him into a hug, the force of the embrace causing Koutarou to stumble backwards several steps, and dragging Akaashi with them, hand reflexively tightening in fear of falling.

“Tetsu, chill,” Koutarou said as he steadied himself, but he was laughing.

“I'm just so happy for you,” Kuroo replied, taking a step back and pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

Koutarou's stomach fluttered with giddiness and excitement, and, yeah, he was pretty happy for himself, too. Akaashi liked!! Him!!! They were dating!! And holding hands!!!

“Can we play volleyball, now?” Akaashi grumbled, less enthused, and pulled his hand free.

“Dude, let me have this,” Kuroo said, holding a hand out in a placating gesture as he wiped another fake tear with his other hand, “I'm practically your brother-in-law, now.”

The look on Akaashi's face was one of dismay and irritation, and Koutarou felt a surge of affection, looking at it, for all the times a similar expression had been turned on him.

“Be nice to my boyfriend,” Koutarou jokingly admonished his friend, and at the word, several heads went up around the gym.

“Boyfriend?” Oikawa called, jogging over.

“Akaashi said yes!” Kuroo announced.

Akaashi, for himself, rolled his eyes, and said, “It's not like we're getting married.”

At the same time, Koutarou said, “Actually, he asked me!”

Three things happened at once, then.

Kuroo screamed in excitement.

Akaashi glared at Koutarou and demanded, “Stop encouraging them.”

Oikawa looked over his shoulder and yelled, sing-song, “Iwa-chan, I called it! You owe me dinner.” That said, he grabbed Koutarou by the shoulders and said, darkly, seriously, “I want to know 103% of the details.”

Koutarou was saved from Akaashi's wrath when the coach walked into the gym, and gave them a vexed look.

“You guys plan on playing any volleyball tonight, or…?” He asked, and Koutarou heard his boyfriend (!!!!!) sigh in relief. The knot of people dispersed, though Kuroo gave him a last bro-punch in the arm and a wide grin.

**End of November**

It was Friday evening, and Keiji was sitting with Bokuto in a small coffee shop—the same one they had first met up in months ago, actually—but this time is was an _actual_ date.

Keiji sipped his coffee as Bokuto continued some story about something that had happened in his history class—a very interesting story, he was sure, but Keiji wasn't entirely focused on it.

His eyes kept slipping down to Bokuto's lips, jawline, throat, the corded muscle of his neck and shoulders, peeking out under his v-neck shirt. His mind supplied ghost sensations of his own mouth moving across them. Keiji gulped the dregs of his drink, very thirsty.

He _really_ wanted to kiss Bokuto. This was...not an entirely new desire, but one he'd only recently allowed himself to indulge.

He realized belatedly that Bokuto had finished his story and was waiting for a reaction from Keiji. He masked his inattention by smiling, which seemed to satisfy Bokuto.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked, since they had both finished their drinks.

“It's pretty cold out,” Bokuto noted.

“There should still be ducks at the pond,” Keiji mentioned, and Bokuto brightened. He never could resist feeding the ducks at the pond by the administrative building on their university campus.

And if Keiji had ulterior motives for wanting to get Bokuto away from the crowded cafe and watchful eyes, well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

They both slipped on their coats, scarves, and gloves, and walked out into the chill sunset. Keiji didn't protest when Bokuto linked his hand with his own, even though it _probably_ would have been warmer in his pocket.

At the pond, Keiji put a coin into the duck food dispenser and filled Bokuto's hands with the pellets, and within moments they were both surrounded by very hungry, very shameless ducks. Bokuto's laugh mingled with the quacking of the birds scrambling for the food he scattered onto the dry winter grass. Keiji went back to the feed dispenser for him twice more before the ducks filled up and lost interest.

By then, the sun was just a sliver over the western horizon, and the halogen lamps that illuminated the campus at night were flickering into life. Keiji looked at his boyfriend's face in the artificial glow, flushed and smiling, and the urge to kiss him came back, full-force. And alone, here, there was nothing to stop him.

He caught the end of Bokuto's scarf, tugging him forward, into his personal space, and looked him in the eye, tilting his face, slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, and Bokuto answered by kissing him, initially missing his mouth in his enthusiasm.

Keiji smiled, and attempt two went much more smoothly, a sweet close-mouthed slide of lips, one of Bokuto's gloved hands coming up to the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheekbone.

It would have been an absolutely perfect moment, if a bright light hadn't shone through Keiji's eyelid, prompting him to pull away and take a peek at its source—a flashlight, attached to a hand, attached to an arm, attached to a campus security officer, who looked none too amused. Keiji was _mortified._

Bokuto's face was scarlet under the accusing light, and started to babble out some excuse, but the officer held out a hand to silence him.

“Break it up, kids. You have rooms for that.”

**Early December**

However disastrously that first kiss had ended, it had opened up a new dynamic in Koutarou's relationship with Akaashi—a _really_ awesome one.

Koutarou was a physical person. He liked touching, and kissing, and cuddling, and sex. He _especially_ liked those things in the context of a relationship, because he was _also_ kind of a big softie and _maybe_ watched a few too many romantic comedies.

The point was, he was just about head-over-heels for Akaashi, and would have been happy to be with him in any way that he would allow. But _kissing_ Akaashi? And _touching_ him? He wasn't sure he'd ever been happier.

There were _some_ differences, though, between Akaashi and the other guys Koutarou had been with.

“I think we need to talk about boundaries,” Akaashi said softly, breathlessly, pulling back from a kiss. He was straddling Koutarou's lap, and the feeling of his body so close, breathing hard from kissing _him_ was making him want to do anything but talk.

But he was right—it was important.

Koutarou pulled his hands from Akaashi's waist, and nodded his agreement.

After a moment of rearranging, they sat facing each other, but not in direct contact.

“You know I'm not...entirely comfortable with my body,” Akaashi said, not meeting his eye.

“I know,” Koutarou acknowledged, softly. Body dysphoria had been one of the things he'd read up on during his research. And of course he wouldn't want to to anything to make Akaashi feel insecure.

“This is...also kind of new territory to me,” he admitted, red-faced, after a long moment.

“Hey,” Koutarou replied, “I'm not going to do anything unless you say it's okay.”

Akaashi nodded, and looked at him, then, asking, “What about you?”

Koutarou raised his eyebrows.

“Me?” He asked. “I'm okay with pretty much anything, really...” He trailed off, thinking back to the _last_ guy he'd dated, and quickly added, “Within reason.”

“Dog collars and blindfolds not your thing?” Akaashi deadpanned.

“Tetsu told you, that traitor!”

“That's what you get for giving him my number. Do you know how many cat memes I've gotten in the last week alone?”

“About as many as I have, probably,” Koutarou answered with a grin. It slipped a moment later, though, his face going serious. “I meant it, though, Keiji.”

Akaashi looked up, startled by the use of his given name.

“I'll check in with you before I do anything to make sure you're okay with it. I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

The smile on his boyfriend's face was so beatific that Koutarou wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. He leaned forward, fingers coming up to tilt Akaashi's face up.

He raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression: _This okay?_ Akaashi answered by moving in the last few inches to meet him, open mouthed. One of his hands was raking through Koutarou's hair, the other a firm pressure in the center of his chest, encouraging him to lay back. He was happy to oblige.

Akaashi leaned over him, holding up his weight on his forearms, their legs tangled together. This was...yeah, he liked this. They kissed again, slowly, deeply.

Akaashi pulled back for breath, and when he moved back in, he put his lips to Koutarou's jaw, right where it met his throat, the barest hint of teeth scraping his skin in the kiss. A short, surprised moan escaped him, and he felt Akaashi smirk against his neck in response.

Two could play that game—and anyway, he _really_ wanted to touch Akaashi, instead of having his hands lying uselessly at his sides, gripping the sheets. He placed them on his waist, only his thumbs underneath Akaashi's shirt.

“Can I?” he murmured, voice gone rough around the edges with want.

Akaashi pulled back from whatever sinful thing he was doing to the pulse of Koutarou's neck, and went still.

“Yeah,” he said, at length. “Just not my chest.”

Koutarou nodded, and slipped his hands under Akaashi's shirt, reveling in the feeling of hot skin under his fingers as he brushed them across his boyfriend's flat belly, stopping when he got to the edge of his binder, moving instead across his ribs and around his back, drawing abstract characters and pictures there.

Akaashi sighed with pleasure, and kissed Koutarou on the mouth again, maybe with a little less finesse this time than he had before. His own technique was probably lacking, too, given how wild the warmth and weight and friction of Akaashi's body was making him, and he was _incredibly_ aware that he was getting hard in his pants.

He groaned, low and embarrassingly needy, hazily wondering just how far this was going to go.

The question was answered quickly, when Akaashi pulled back, disentangling their limbs.

“I—is it alright if we cool it?” He asked, though he sounded like he wasn't in much of a better state than Koutarou was. He moved to the side and lay beside him, head resting in his hand, propped up on his elbow.

“Of course,” he answered, smushing down a spark of disappointment, and sitting up onto his own elbows.

“I,” Akaashi began, “I don't think I'm ready, yet. Sorry.”

Koutarou gave him a look. “Don't apologize. I've got hands.” Hands that would be put to _good use_ later, with this memory fresh in his mind.

Akaashi bit his lip, eyes focused on picking a bit of lint out of the sheets.

“Do you...want to watch that movie you've been talking about instead?” He asked.

Bokuto brightened, and nodded enthusiastically—he _was_ pretty excited about this movie. Akaashi grinned softly, and reached over him to the desk, where his laptop was sitting.

Koutarou fell asleep during the movie.

When he woke, it was morning, and a sleeping Akaashi was tucked under his arm.

**Mid December**

Winter continued to deepen, and almost suddenly, finals had passed and the term was over.

Bokuto was walking Keiji to the station for winter break, his suitcase rolling along the pavement behind him.

They were both a bit drained from the rush of studying and exams that had accompanied the last week of the term, and even Bokuto's usual boundless energy seemed a bit subdued, matching the flat grey sky that threatened sleet.

“I'm gonna miss you,” Bokuto admitted, when the station was in view. Keiji turned, missing a beat.

“It's only a few weeks,” he said, trying to be comforting, but Bokuto only pouted.

“You _have_ to text me and stuff, okay? What if I see a weird bird? You won't be there to tell me what it is.” Bokuto's tone was unexpectedly serious.

“Koutarou,” Keiji said, using his boyfriend's given name for the first time, and taking his hand, “I'm not going to forget about you. I'm just going to see my family.”

They entered the station proper, and Keiji reached into his pocket to ensure his ticket was there—it was, and it was just about time for him to board.

“Hey,” Bokuto said, and extended his hands for a hug. Keiji gave him a fraction of a grin and stepped into his waiting arms, the embrace forcing the breath out of him.

“I'll miss you, too,” Keiji mumbled into the shoulder of Bokuto's coat. It was true; in only a few weeks he'd grown used to the feeling of another body against his as he slept, to kisses and gentle contact, and he _was_ going to miss it.

“Don't you mean... _owl_ miss you?” He said, and Keiji immediately wriggled out of his grasp.

“That's it; I'm boarding now, goodbye.” He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and took off at a fast walk.

“Keiji, no! Wait! You didn't even give me a goodbye kiss!”

“After that pun, you don't deserve one,” Keiji shot back, but he stopped before he got to the gate.

Bokuto trotted up to him and caught him up in a long kiss, more suitable for a years-long trip than a few weeks of winter vacation. And yet, as with all things _Bokuto,_ Keiji couldn't bring himself to care too much, as he kissed him back.

Finally, the speaker system sounded a boarding call for his train, and Keiji pulled back. It was time for him to go.

This time, Bokuto let him go, with one more demand that he answer his goddamn texts for once.

He rolled his eyes and got onto the train.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed this! I'm Rowan, and I'm on tumblr as [farseersfool](http://farseersfool.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to stop by.
> 
> A few extra notes on what brought this into existence. I had a few ideas that tied themselves together into one concept and at that point, heck, i had to write it:  
> 1\. What if they met in college instead of high school  
> 2\. What if Bokuto gains some tact/sensitivity as he grows up  
> 3\. What if birdwatcher Akaashi  
> 4\. What if trans Akaashi
> 
> I'm pretty sure this is finished, though I have a few ideas for drabbles set in continuity (namely, Bokuto tries to go birdwatching with Akaashi and it goes horribly). Still, I'm pretty happy with where it ends.


End file.
